Waiting For The Storm

Lightning blinds

A rocking chair, folding table, and my father, all covered in its ice 

Burn bright in my eyes as darkness takes back a tattered sky

A tearing sound

The air rips apart

We wait for the storm

Moths on the screen

Dad's summer squash piled high

"Does it smell funny?"

"What, daddy?"

"What? The air. It's ozone. The storm's not far."

"Oh!"

He tells me the sky would light up

He said thunder makes a huge growling sound and it might shake the walls

He said you could feel thunder sometimes

A breeze

Pushing plump raindrops through the screens 

Mist in my eyes

Rain clashes with the day's heat 

Broken concrete walks smell like sand

A gritty dusty smell

"It's coming," dad said

Faraway lights in the clouds moments before the magic

We wait for the storm